Deadly Bliss
by jarec
Summary: All across Gotham City, junkies are turning up dead. The cause? A deadly new poison, laced into the city's narcotics. When the city is full of suspects, can Batman find the culprit before every addict in town is dead?
1. Chapter 1

Jimmy's hands shook nervously as he opened the door to the apartment. Brent was already there, sitting on the couch in his underwear watching TV- he flipped through the channels aimlessly, not really watching the screen but killing time. His short blonde hair was still wet, a sign that he hadn't been awake for long- Brent liked to start his day with a shower. At the sound of the door, he looked up and his blue eyes sparkled with excitement when he saw the large paper bag in Jimmy's hand.

"Whoa!" he cried, springing from the couch "Dude, you must have half a kilo in there! How much did it cost ya?"

"Dirt cheap man" Jimmy said as he knocked the snow off his boots, pride evident in his voice. He paused in the doorway to shake the snow from his long black hair "I told ya; let me do the buyin'. The guy said he's got loads more, said somethin' about a huge shipment arriving in Gotham a couple days ago. I tell ya man, we are gonna be ass-deep in China White! None of that dirty brown shit for us! HA HA! Get the stuff and lets cook up!"

Jimmy raced to the kitchen to procure the necessary equipment- spoons, lighters, new needles and of course, the rubber tubing. They were past masters at the fine art of shooting up, and had been shooting together ever since they were in high school. They'd dropped out together, worked dead-end jobs together, lived together, and they'd even come out of the closet together. But, most importantly, they got high together and that was what they were going to do now.

Brent, meanwhile, carefully measured the stuff into doses. "Dude! There's enough here for the whole month! Where the hell did you buy this ?!"

"Off Juan, down in Robinson Park. Hey, did ya know Poison Ivy's back in town?" Jimmy said, as he walked back into the den carrying the necessary equipment. "Joker too. I bought extra on purpose; I figure with those psychos out there, we better not go out too often ya know?"

"Man, I take back half the shit I've ever called you! Now we won't have to risk getting murdered every time we wanna get off!" Brent said, a smile on his face and greed in his eyes. "C'mon man, start cooking it up!"

Sitting at the dining room table, they placed the heroin in the spoons and slowly prepared 2 doses. Brent reached for the needle and paused, the handed it to Jimmy. "You first man. It's only fair."

Jimmy was honestly touched. Neither he nor Brent had managed to score any smack in days, and Brent had to be hurting pretty bad by now. "Thanks man." He carefully selected a spot on the back of his knee- the pair had jobs and so were careful to only leave trackmarks where they weren't immediately visible. He slowly pierced his skin and pushed the plunger home. A blissful expression came onto his face, and immediately his body stopped shaking. "Oh, fuck yeah."

Brent smiled "Good shit, huh?"

"Oh yeaaaaAAAAARRGGGH!!" Jimmy's expression changed from bliss to agony. He fell to the ground, and began convulsing. "OH MY GOD IT BURNS! IT BURNS!!"

"Oh SHIT! Jimmy! JIMMY!"

* * *

Hours later, the apartment was filled with police. Detective Harvey Bullock sat at the table across from a sobbing Brent. He was taking the young man's deposition, writing down notes in his typical sloppy handwriting. If any one were to look at the scene, they would guess that the disheveled detective- with his five o'clock shadow, rumpled clothes, and food stains- was the addict, not the clean-cut young man in front of him.

"An' he said that he got the heroin from Juan in Robinson Park?"

Brent nodded, his eyes lowered. For once, they were red not from drugs but from tears. "Y-yeah. Just like I told that lady cop. His name's Juan Alvarez- little bastard with a greasy mustache and a shitty comb-over. He's the one who gave Jimmy the tainted stuff."

Bullock closed his notebook and sighed. "Listen, uh, Brent. You know that I'm gonna have to run you in for possession of heroin, right? Even if you testify, you're still goin' ta jail."

Brent looked straight into the detective's eyes "Man, I just lost my lover and best friend. I had ta watch him die screaming right in front of me. I don't care what happens to me anymore, just bring down the sonuvabitch responsible for this."

Contrary to his image, Harvey Bullock was not a cruel or hateful man. He didn't make any comments about gays or junkies, he did nothing to belittle the younger man's loss. He simply nodded his head solemnly and said "I promise ya, we'll bring the bastard down. Now, officer Lansky over there is gonna read you your rights and take you down to the station."

Numbly, Brent rose from the table and moved to where the tall police officer waited with handcuffs. Bullock turned to the female officer to his right, Becky Weinstein. She was new to the force, and in Bullock's opinion she wasn't a patch on Renee Montoya, his old partner. Still, she was his partner now.

"So, waddya think Becky?"

"I think it's a load of crap. So a junky got some bad candy, big deal. It happens."

"Yeah, it happens, but it don't happen six times in two weeks. And it usually means a tainted shipment and all the deaths usually lead back to one dealer. That ain't happened- this guy Alvarez is the sixth dealer fingered for as many deaths. Hell, they weren't even using the same drugs! Two guys were on coke, three were crackheads, this guy was shootin' up and the last one was on pot. Something's going on out there, Becky, and I wanna know what it is. Grab the smack, and let's head down to the station and let the lab boys take over."

The next day, Bullock and Weinstein met with the head of the Forensics Department to discuss the evidence.

"It was tricky" said the scientist, a tall man with thick glasses and dark hair "We ran dozens of tests on the different samples you gave us before we found the toxin. In addition to the usual ground glass and rat powder, there was an additional chemical. A specialized neurotoxin."

"Poison?" Bullock echoed "You tellin' me someone is poisoning junkies? Why?"

"I don't know, detective. All I can tell you is this is a very nasty poison we're dealing with here. It produces spasms of agony as it burns through the nervous system. Death is quick, but excruciating- I examined the bodies and their death spasms were so violent they actually broke bones. Worse, the toxin leaves no residue within the body- we've no way of knowing who's died of an overdose and who's been poisoned."

Bullock sighed "Thanks, doc. Make a report as detailed as possible, I got a feeling the Bat is gonna want it pretty soon. C'mon, Becky, let's go give the commish the good news."

That night on top of the roof of Police headquarters, the Commissioner Gordon recited Bullock's findings to Batman. "…so, that's the situation, Batman. Someone is poisoning narcotics all over town. Our men are working on it, but frankly we don't have your contacts or your latitude of action. We can't touch people or even question them until we have evidence- and evidence is proving to be mighty thin on the ground right now."

The dark vigilante was silent for a moment. "Suspects?"

Gordon snorted, and relit his pipe. "We're up to our ears in suspects. A gang might be doing it to hurt their competition. The same motive applies to the various mob families left in Gotham- they're always looking for a way to reclaim their power. Then of course, we have the Rogues. Poison Ivy, Scarecrow, the Ventriloquist and the Mad Hatter are all on the loose at the moment. Any one of them might have done it for some twisted reason."

Batman nodded "Don't forget the Joker. He escaped Arkham last night."

Gordon shivered in the bitter January winds before speaking. "You really think he could have organized this while locked up in Arkham?"

Batman nodded again. "He's done it before.- orchestrated killings while we thought him safely in Arkham. Killing people with their own drugs would probably appeal to his sense of humor. I'll let you know when I have something." And with that, he was gone, swinging away into the night.

* * *

Deep in the huge system of caverns collectively known as the Batcave, Batman sat before the computer and read through the profiles of the various gangs and 'families' which eked out an existence here in Gotham. Behind him, Tim Drake finished his cool-down routine and walked over.

"So, any idea who's been tainting the candy?"

Batman swiveled around and gave his sidekick a glare "Don't joke about this Tim. People are dead, and they died horribly. We have to find who's doing this and soon"

Tim stepped back, then lowered his head "Sorry. It's just, y'know most of the dead people were junkies- the same kind of people we bust every night trying to rob other people. It's hard to be sympathetic. I don't want to see them die, though, and I promise you I'll do everything I can to stop whoever it is."

Batman grunted, and turned back to the monitor. "The problem is that this whole city is full of suspects. Apart from the usual gangland reasons, this could be some so-called honest citizen tainting narcotics in order to 'clean up the city'."

Tim nodded as he pulled a bottle of Gatorade from the minifridge "Like that loon in Central City a few weeks back."

"Exactly. Then, we have the Rogues. All of the narcotics so far have been plant-based. Heroin comes from opium, coke and crack are distilled from coca, and marijuana is a weed. That suggests Poison Ivy- she might be out to cull the herd a bit. Then we have the Joker- it wouldn't be too hard to set this up from Arkham, not for him and it'd probably strike him as hilarious."

Tim finished his drink and picked up his mentor's chain of thought "Right. Alice in Wonderland is full of passages that can be taken as drug references, which leads us to the Hatter. Though I can't see why he'd do it, that doesn't mean he couldn't have some crazy reason. Mind you, his specialty is mind control and technology. I don't think he'd be able to come up with a new, deadly, and practically undetectable toxin on his own."

Batman nodded, pleased that his apprentice was progressing as a detective. "Scarecrow certainly has the chemical knowledge to do so, but lacks motivation. The victims aren't afraid, they're dead. I think we can tentatively rule the both of them out, barring further evidence."

"What about Scarface and the Ventriloquist?" Tim asked "The little wooden thug has always been a mobster, and narcotics are definitely a mob activity."

"I'd thought of that" Batman turned to Tim "Robin, I want you, Batgirl and Azrael to start questioning the street gangs. Focus on the leaders and their seconds-in-command. I'll ask Nightwing to come to Gotham to help with the families- we'll focus on the Falcone, Thorne, and Moretti families, they have the biggest drug ties. We'll leave the Rogues for last, since they are least likely to be involved- with one exception. I'll start searching for the Joker myself."

A/N

Wow, that was a long one, huh? I know, I know, I really should finish my other work before starting a new one, but this story was calling out to me. Wouldn't leave me alone. And, well, I AM almost done with Suburban Fun And Games, and Down on the Farm won't be a long one…


	2. Chapter 2

Victor Stedwick walked idly home, whistling to himself as he moved down the dark and dirty streets of Gotham's Crime Alley. Despite the districts infamous murder rate, Victor walked without fear, for he was a member of the African Army of Gotham- one of the most powerful street gangs in the city. People around here knew him as a man to respect, or at the very least, as someone not to be fucked with. The AAG tended to take brutal exception to any attacks on its members by other criminals- Rogues of course being the exception.  
What Victor should have remembered was that in Gotham, being feared by criminals only removes half the danger.

With no warning, a red cloaked figure yanked him into a darkened alley, and slammed him against the wall. The black youth, who was one hundred and ninety pounds of muscle and hate, found himself being lifted into the air. Looking down, he noticed that the vigilante (he presumed) had done this with ONE HAND. Suddenly, it dawned on young Victor just how much trouble he was in. He looked at his assailant. Beneath the hood, a red mask covered the mans eyes, and his lean face was framed by long blonde hair. Some kind of old-timey armor covered the rest of him.

"I seek information, mortal" the masked man said, and his deep voice sounded like the very wrath of God "Know that I am Azrael, the avenger, and that the only thing that stays my righteous wrath is that need for information. Tell me what I wish to know, and I will be merciful."

Victor was a killer, a thief, a dealer and an occasional pimp. He was, in short, a predator, and predators react poorly to being afraid. Victor retreated into bluster, which was his second mistake. "Fuck you, white boy. I ain't gonna tell you shit!"

A wrist-mounted blade, a foot long, suddenly stabbed into a place on the wall about six inches away from Victor's face. With a WHOOSH the blade burst into flame, a white flame that stayed close to the metal but was so hot Victor was amazed the bricks didn't melt. Slowly, the masked man withdrew the blade, but kept it in the air

"That" Azrael said "was but a warning. I say again, sinner; I seek information. Someone has been poisoning the various narcotics that infect this city. You will tell me all that you know. Now."

Victor swallowed "I don't know anything. YAAAH!" He screamed, as the flaming blade stabbed into the wall again, this time only three inches away. Though the fire didn't touch him, he felt like he was burning anyway.

"Lies. I despise lies, and liars even moreso. Again, mortal, tell me what you know."

Victor knew now that this man was very serious indeed. "Okay, okay. Yeah, we know about that- my gang that is. We don't know who's doing it, though, or why. He gets into the stuff sometime before it comes off the…before we get it. Not just our stuff, neither. Word is, he's hitting everybody. The wops, the chinks, the Japs, even the Russians. That's all I know, I swear"

The flaming blade hovered in front of Victor's eyes now. "Everything?"

"I FUCKIN' SWEAR!!" Victor screamed, his eyes shut. Suddenly he felt himself drop to the pavement. He opened his eyes again to find himself alone. He ran home, and vowed to go to church more often. Somehow, that guy had given him a real BURNING interest in religion.

On a rooftop overlooking the alley, Robin sighed. "That's all he had?"

"Yes" Azrael said "He was but a lowly sinner, but he did confirm our previous findings, did he not?"

Robin snorted "Yeah, if you want to call them that. We know someone is poisoning the drugs before they leave the docks or airport or whatever. We know that that someone is hitting everyone's supplies- the Families, the Tongs, the Yakuza, the Ghost Dragons, the Mafiya… or at least, that's what he wants everyone to think. We know that the gangs are getting restless, and looking for someone to blame. All of which we either knew or suspected last night. After interrogating the high-ups in five major gangs, we don't know anymore than we did when we started."

Azrael shrugged "We knew this task would likely prove fruitless." The vigilante rechecked the fuel-lines for his wrist-blades. "The sinners know little, and tell less."

"Yeah, yeah. Still sucks, though. Next up, we'll go to Cubanos Locos territory and schedule an interview with someone in charge. I'll let you handle that one too- I just don't have your way with people" Launching their grapples, the two vigilantes swung away into the night.

* * *

Deep in the bowels of Arkham Asylum, Batman shook hands with Doctor Arkham. Despite the asylum's poor track record, the Dark Knight still respected the psychiatrist. He knew that the man had been handed an impossible task, and had done his best to fulfill it. The formalities done, they headed down into the subterranean level which housed Arkham's most dangerous patients.

"He just came back, all on his own?" Batman said, seeking confirmation. He always told himself that nothing the Joker did could shock or surprise him anymore, but the clown always managed to come up with new tricks.

Arkham nodded. "It's very strange, even for Patient J. At 9:27 PM yesterday, his cell was found empty- he'd crawled out through an airvent, we think. We alerted the authorities, and put the entire asylum in lockdown- we don't want anyone else getting the same idea. Then, at 6:35 this morning, he walked up to the front gate and politely asked the guard to open the door. He allowed himself to be led back to his cell with no trouble. He hasn't said a word since."

Batman grimaced. He knew what that meant; Joker was waiting for him to come. He cleared his face of all expression, and headed down the darkened corridor to the Maximum Security Wing. The hall was lined with thick, plexiglass windows, each of which revealed the cell of a different maniac.

Batman stalked past his many foes, oblivious to their taunts, threats and jeers. He'd heard it all so many times before, that it just washed over him. As always, he paused for a second in front of Harvey Dent's cell, and looked at his one-time friend. Twoface simply scowled back, and raised a finger in obscene greeting. The Dark Knight gave no response, and merely continued on his way.

The Joker's current cell was placed at the very end of the hall, for maximum visibility. One camera was devoted to monitoring this cell alone, and the glass was double the normal thickness. Yet, time and again the monster escaped, to bring chaos and death to the innocent. As he approached, Batman felt a pang of apprehension- he always did when he approached the Joker, because the clown was by far the most dangerous of all his enemies. In his heart, the Dark Knight had a suspicion that it would be the Joker who ended his career, one way or another.

Currently, the clown was standing unmoving in the middle of his cell, staring up at the security camera. His gaze never wavered, and his body was completely rigid. When Batman approached, the hateful harlequin instantly turned his head.

"Why hello, Batman! What a surprise! You almost never come to visit!" As usual, the Joker's voice was filled with dark glee.

"Why did you come back?"

The Joker shrugged, and resumed staring at the camera. "I'd done what I wanted to do"

Batman grit his teeth. Already, his mind was running through scenarios, imagining what the clown might have done. "What was that?"

"I saw The Producers."

That brought Batman up short. He'd escaped from Arkham for a musical? "Funny. Now the truth"

Instantly, the clown was in motion. He fell to his knees before his enemy and swung one arm over his eyes in a perfect tableau of betrayal "Oh, BATMAN! How COULD you? After all we've been through together, after all I've done foryou-and to you- how could you accuse me of lying?"

Batman was silent a moment, searching his memory. Then, he said "Mel Brooks was in town for last nights show wasn't he? He took the starring role that night."

The Joker leapt to his feet and burst into applause "KEE-RECT! Give the winged rat a prize! How could I not go give my own thanks to the man who has made me laugh so often?"

Oddly, Batman found this to be perfectly plausible. The Joker loved comedy, and had often expressed admiration for those he considered masters of the art. It was not outside the realm of possibility that the clown might escape purely to see one of those masters in person. "And then you came back, just because you were done"

The Joker's grin widened "Well, not exactly. You see, from now on, you and the bumblers who work here will never be quite sure if I've really escaped, or if I'm just out for a stroll. Oh, you'll make yourselves treat each time like a real escape, but deep down in your batty little heart you'll always wonder- you'll hope- that maybe I'm just at the movies. You'll never be sure, and that's even better than Mel Brooks."

Batman scowled slightly and turned to leave. He'd taken three steps when his enemy called out after him.

"Hey, Batsy! I'm not the one that's poisoning the deadheads, but I can tell you this: When you find the guy, you're going to feel so stupid! HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAA!!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Robin to Oracle. Azrael and I have finished the last of tonight's interrogations. Neither the Green Nails nor the Aryan Brothers were able to tell us anything new. Someone's tainted a large percentage of the narcotics in Gotham City. They seem to be targeting everyone, and no one knows how they're doing it. Any news from the others?" Robin shivered as a chill breeze blew across the cathedral rooftop where he'd stopped to make his report. After a moment, Oracle's voice came across the communicator. She sounded tired, and more than a little sad.

"There's news all right, just not good news. The police department examined the 'overdose deaths' of the last few weeks and something like sixty percent were killed by this poison. Actually, the forensics guys figure it's probably a lot higher- they were only able to examine the John and Jane Does; you know, the unidentified dead. All the others are long since buried in private cemeteries, and they didn't want to ask the families for permission to exhume"

Robin grimaced "So this guys been at it for at least a couple weeks, and nobody even noticed?"

He could practically here Oracle grimace. "How were we supposed to know? OD's happen every night in this town, and unless you know what you're looking for that's just what the victims look like. Oh, and get this- the lab boys say the killer might be getting more active as time goes by. They say that the number of deaths rises over time, though with such a small sample to work with, they aren't sure."

"Still, it makes me sick to think of this guy killing dozens of people without us even knowing it. Robin out"

Far away, in her clock tower base, Barbara Gordon sighed. 'Tim's an odd one. Sometimes he's almost as cynical as Bruce is, and others he's surprisingly idealistic. You'd think he'd know by now that we can't save everyone.'

She wheeled herself away from the main console and over to the kitchen area. It was an unusual kitchen to say the least- all the tables, counters, and appliances were set at a height accessible to her wheelchair. While she appreciated the effort, she hated the necessity. As she made a pot of coffee, she cursed the Joker for perhaps the thousandth time since her attack, for stealing her legs. After pouring herself a cup, she wheeled herself back to the main work area, yawning despite the hot caffeine.

'3:47 AM' she thought 'Geez, normally even I'm logging off by now. Wonder what Dick's up to? He said he'd be checking in soon… better make sure he's okay…' She flipped on her communicator and tapped Nightwing's switch.

"Oracle to Nightwing. How's my favorite bird doing tonight?" she said. She was always more playful with her fiancée than she was with anyone else on the Batteam. Firstly, this was because he was her fiancée, and if that didn't impart a right to tease, then what did? But secondly because, to his constant frustration, Nightwing had to be serious in public.

"Nightwing here. I'm preparing to infiltrate the Falcone estate. Batman is here as well." She could actually HEAR the smart remarks that he was dying to say. She smirked; teasing Nightwing was always fun, but it was even better when Batman was around. Nightwing might slip up and answer back when he was alone, but not when the Dark Knight was glaring at him. Batman, on the other hand, normally disapproved of banter on the comm system- EXCEPT when it came to her teasing Nightwing. She had a feeling that down deep, Batman regarded it as payback for the first Robin's constant joking and punning.

"Oooh, my little bird is flying around the Falcone's nest? Better take care, Dickie, and bring your tail feathers home unplucked." She laughed and closed the line.

Outside the Falcone Estate, Batman rechecked his equipment and ignored his partner's mutterings about teasing women. The Falcone family had suffered a great deal in the last decade; where once they had been the leaders of Gotham's massive underworld, the coming of the Rogues had brought them down hard. Now they were little more than another gang. But that didn't mean that infiltrating their headquarters was going to be easy or safe- he'd counted three stationary guards on this side of the estate alone, and two roving patrols. All were armed with powerful guns, presumably loaded with armor-piercing rounds. A single mistake could prove fatal- so there would be no mistakes.

"Ready?" he said to his partner, who looked up with a cheeky grin on his face.

"Have I ever been anything but?"

Batman grunted and silently climbed a nearby tree. Upon reaching the top, he leapt out into space- angling his descent so that he landed clear of the Falcone's high stone wall. He landed on his toes and sank into a crouch. A moment later, Nightwing landed in perfect silence right beside him. The two vigilantes silently made their way across the grounds towards the main mansion, easily evading the guards and the security cameras. Fortunately, the snow on the ground had already been trampled by the patrols, and their boots were indistinguishable from those of the Family's soldiers.

Upon reaching the manor, Batman reached into his belt and pulled out a small line and grapple. With an ease born from years of practice, he tossed the hardened plastic hook onto the mansion's roof, and secured a hold. In total silence, the heroes ascended to the third floor den, where the current head of the family- Enrico Falcone- was known to keep his personal records.

The window to the room was locked, and composed of bulletproof glass, but a few moments with a lockpick soon granted them access. Then came the tedious yet perilous task of searching the office. It was tedious because it meant examining all the paper work in the office; perilous because at any moment someone might wander in and discover them. Despite the need for secrecy in a criminal endeavor, no one can keep the details of a large organization in their heads- things have to be written down somewhere.

So it was that the pair once known as the Dynamic Duo spent more than half an hour quietly searching the office and reading papers.

After forty minutes, Batman heard footsteps approaching the room. He dropped the paper he'd been reading and entered a fighting stance. Nightwing, taking a cue from his mentor, did the same. The office door opened, and Enrico Falcone entered the room. He didn't seem surprised to see Batman and Nightwing in his home, nor was he shocked to see them examining his papers. Instead he moved to the chair behind his desk and sat down before speaking.

"I presume you're here regarding the drug deaths?" He said, and Batman was surprised to hear how old the man sounded. Falcone couldn't be more than fifty, yet he moved and spoke like a man fifteen years older.

"Well, you know it's funny. All these gangs drugs start killing their users, and somehow we just thought of you" Nightwing said, and Batman silenced him with a glare. This was not the time for jokes.

"Did you not notice that many of our customers are dying as well? That my own men have been dying because of their addictions?" Falcone spat, real venom audible in his voice "No, of course you did not. What do you care about us?" The older man sighed, and when he spoke again it was tinged with longing and sadness.

"Once, my family ruled this city- we brought order to the streets of Gotham, we kept the blacks and the Mexicans and the rest in their place. We put an end to the violence of the old days, and made our people wealthy and respected. Then you came-" he pointed a finger at the Caped Crusader "-you and your freaks. First came the Joker, killing those who sought our protection- killing our men. He killed a friend of mine, Brute Nelson, when Brute tried to put an end to that animal. Then came the Penguin, the Riddler, and all the rest. They made us a laughing stock! They did as they pleased and turned this city into a madhouse"

Batman spoke, with the cold anger of a vengeful deity, "Don't play the martyr with me, Falcone. I know how much blood is on your hands"

"Not like that! We only killed when death was the only option, and we never killed those who didn't interfere in our affairs! These animals…they kill who they like, they bring chaos to the streets! We tried to stop them at first- we put out contracts, and when that didn't work, we sent our own soldiers after them. They came back to us in pieces- the clown's handiwork I'm sure." Falcone paused to cough violently, and the handkerchief he put to his mouth came away spotted with blood. "Ha. Dying. I'm dying, Batman, me and my entire family. My sons have moved to other cities, trying to start fresh. My nephew… five years ago we all thought he'd be one of us- he has nerves of steel and the heart of a lion. Instead, he works for the Penguin as an enforcer- FOR ONE OF THEM!"

Falcone swept his hand across his desk in fury, scattering papers and pens across the floor. He closed his eyes to calm himself, and when he spoke again his tone was quiet and matter-of-fact. "None of us did this thing, Batman, of this I'm sure- not my family nor any of the others. We don't have the capability anymore- not the men, nor the money. Now, please, get out of my house- let an old man die in peace."

Batman moved to the window and Nightwing followed him. They retraced their path across the grounds, and made their way outside. Once out, Nightwing turned to his partner and asked the question that had been on his mind for a while "Why didn't you arrest him?"

Batman triggered the Batmobile's remote control before answering "For what? He didn't confess to anything, he vaguely alluded to things his Family had done in the past. In any case, I believed him when he said they were innocent of this- all the papers I saw described an organization that's hemorrhaging money and personnel. I would guess that in ten years, at most, conventional organized crime will be a thing of the past in Gotham."

Nightwing yawned "You'll forgive me if I shed no tears. What now?"

Batman checked his clock as the Batmobile quietly pulled up, opening its doors automatically. "Now? Now we go home; it'll be dawn soon and we need to rest before we start on the Rogues. Batgirl and myself will handle Poison Ivy, you and Robin will track down the Ventriloquist, and Azrael and Huntress can look for the Mad Hatter. Will you be staying at the Manor today?"

Nightwing shook his head and gave a sheepish smile. "Nah. I think I'll head over to the clock tower and see about paying Babs back for her taunts. Plus, no offence, she's nicer to wake up to than you are. Would it be all right if we came to dinner though? I miss Alfred's cooking"

Batman's lip twitched "I think that can be arranged. He was talking about making leg of lamb, and that always results in leftovers unless we have guests"

Nightwing licked his lips "Leg of lamb ala Pennyworth…who says the good guys never get rewarded?"

a/n

Anyone expecting the usual angsty crap between Batman and Nightwing can read my story He Is Father. They're both adults, they should learn to deal.

Is there a reason no one seems to be reading this? It's just, my other Batman stories have gotten hundreds- sometimes thousands- of hits, and this ones got 97. I don't think it's THAT bad.

Next time, the Rogues are investigated as the pressure mounts for an answer.


	4. Chapter 4

It was an unusual collar, to be sure. Detective Harvey Bullock lit up for a brief smoke- it was tough to find any time for a smoke these days. The Commish had every cop out on the streets looking for leads on the Bad Candyman- that's what the press had nicknamed this mess, Bad Candy, it made him sick. Bullock was a veteran cop, he'd dealt with junkies long enough to know that most of them were just people with a killer habit. They could be good people, bad people, crooks or cops… the stuff worked the same on everyone, 'til now. So Bullock understood why Gordon didn't want to see cops loitering around GCPD headquarters- but that didn't mean his own habit didn't need fixing. So, while his partner Detective Montoya used the Mister Donutz bathroom, he'd ducked out back for a smoke. He'd taken a few puffs of his cigar when he heard the sound of metal on stone. A quick glance behind him revealed that someone was moving a manhole cover in the alley, to allow them to exit the sewer. Bullock knew as well as any how many dangerous things lurked in the sewers of Gotham, and ducked behind a nearby Dumpster. He quietly pulled his gun from its holster and watched as three large men wearing Halloween masks emerged from the manhole. A small, balding man who wore glasses and carried a wooden doll followed them.

"Awright youse mugs, head to da moutha da alley and ckeck fer witnesses. Dat job was poifect, no need ta go spoilin' it now gy gein' sloppy."

"Right, Scarface" the biggest thug said, and moved to the mouth of the alley.

Bullock could move suprisingly swiftly for a man of his age and size. In a burst of speed, he leapt from his hiding place and snatched the doll delinquent from it's servant's arms, knocking Arnold Wesker away. "Awright, dirt bags, drop the guns or your boss gets drilled" He yelled, holding his pistol to Scarface's head.

"Mister Scarface!" Shrieked Wesker, his face filled with panic.

"Gullock, ya stupid pig, d'ya know what my boys're gonna do to ya?" The dummy's gruff voice was very disturbing when it came from a closed mouth. People much tougher than this, however, had threatened bullock.

"Quiet Pinocchio, or we'll see how well ya talk with an extra orifice. Tell your goons to throw down their weapons. NOW!" the hefty cop punctuated his request by shoving the barrel of his gun into Scarface's eye.

The doll spoke without moving it's mouth "Shaddup, dummy! Goys, drop da heaters and do what da gastard says."

'Biggest arrest of my life' Bullock thought 'and I only wanted a smoke'

Back at Central, Bullock basked in the glory of his arrest. To be fair, he admitted that it had all been luck. He'd had no way of knowing that Scarface and his gang had just robbed the Kane Street branch of Gotham Financial, escaping through the sewers. Strangely, the admission only increased his fame among the other cops. As one guy put it "How many of us would have jumped Scarface alone? And how many of us would admit it was an accident?". Even Gordon had laughed at that, the first smile the older man had had in days, before bringing Bullock into his office for a private talk..

Bullock broke away from the crowd to greet his partner. Montoya emerged from the questioning room with a grim smile on his face. "Little wooden bastard doesn't know a thing about the killings- didn't even know they'd been happening. He and his boys've spent the last few weeks counterfeiting- tonight they broke into the bank to swap the phony bills for real ones. Genius, in it's way- there was no sign of a break-in, and even when the fake cash was discovered, it would never have been traced to them. So, what'd Gordon have to say, Lucky?"

Bullock grunted , but smiled at the nickname "Jealousy don't suit ya Renee. Some of us are just fated to make the big arrests, others are fated to be in the can. The Commish says five more victims were found- including Jordan Hill, the old mayor's son."

Montoya winced. She remembered Jordan from her earliest days in Gotham- a sweet kid who'd once been kidnapped by the Joker and lived to tell about it. "How'd that happen? Jordan seemed like such a nice kid"

Bullock motioned for her to follow him outside "Yeah, but nice kids are still just kids. Seems Jordan went to a rave with some friends and decided to try some E. Tainted E, which kinda killed the party if you know what I mean. Big Daddy Hill is up in arms, yelling about how we ain't doing enough to catch this sicko. This whacko's been killin' people for god knows how long, but the minute one of theirs dies, the bigwigs suddenly care"

Montoya nodded. Despite having lost the Mayor's Office some years back, the Hill family was still one of Gotham's premiere families. Rich and powerful, with a number of friends in city hall and the press, Hill could and would bring a lot of heat to bear on the department. If others joined him…"Is it bad, Harv? No jokes, I want the truth"

Bullock paused beside their beat-up old sedan, and sighed "They're talking about making Gordon step down if he can't produce results fast. Like this week fast, though Scarface's capture might buy us a little more time. Still, the heat's on, and now the press is gonna be runnin' stories on this guy 24/7" He seemed to brighten as he climbed into the car "Which means it's up to Lucky Bullock to save the day, once again"

Montoya laughed and climbed in after him.

* * *

That night found Batman and Batgirl sneaking in to a large greenhouse on the outskirts of Gotham City. It was an odd sensation- leaving the bitter wind and biting cold outside and suddenly entering the steamy heat and muggy air of the greenhouse. Batman motioned for his partner to be silent as they moved down the rows of rare and exotic plants- Poison Ivy's 'babies'- and headed towards the end of the greenhouse.

Their progress was slow, as they briefly examined the plant beds for danger. Poison Ivy often used altered flora to attack her enemies, and Batman had an intimate knowledge of such. In addition, they looked for toxic plants which might be used against them. However, their progress to the back of the greenhouse was unimpeded.

Once there, they found a large laboratory set up on an old plastic table. Beside it, a green chalkboard was filled with scribbled notes and formulae and question marks. Batman carefully examined the equipment, noting not only what was present but where it was and what was in it. Occasionally he grunted to himself, as theories arose in his mind and others were cast aside. Batgirl, meanwhile, scanned the greenhouse, wary for attackers. The plants had been harmless, and Poison Ivy wasn't normally one to use human muscle, so theoretically they were safe. However, as a true disciple of Batman, Batgirl knew that this only meant that Poison Ivy likely had some new method of attack.

This theory was proven correct when a wall of green slammed into her side, knocking her over. With incredible skill, Batgirl turned her fall into a roll, and came up in a fighting stance. She found herself facing one of Ivy's plant/human hybrids, an eight foot tall monster that looked strong enough to tear her apart. It's greenish skin was as hard as tree bark, and covered in knots, while it's humanoid hands sported inch-long spines emerging from the knuckles. Huge eyes dominated its face, which was mouthless. A small flower grew from the top of its head, and she realized how it had evaded her notice- the beast had been buried in one of the flower beds waiting for intruders, and she had only noticed its flower as she passed.

She called out a warning to Batman before she launched her attack. The daughter of David Cain struck the monster's knee hard enough to cripple a normal human, but the green behemoth ignored her blows and struck again. Batgirl leapt out of the way, intending to lead the beast outside where the cold would destroy it. Instead, she found her path blocked by a second beast, emerging from the plant beds.

Batman moved to aid his partner, but found himself caught in the grip of a third monster. Poison Ivy, descending from the ceiling perched on a massive vine, laughed. As usual, her laugh seemed to be a mere echo of human laughter, performed by someone who has heard laughter but never seen anything truly funny.

"Well, well… prowlers. You should know that breaking and entering carries a hefty penalty. Death."

A/N  
I finally saw the Dark Knight. Now, I'm a heterosexual male who's never really been tempted to bat for the other side. That being said, when the Joker did his pencil trick I knew I was in love. My holy god, what a movie. This is by far the best movie I've seen in years, despite some fairly serious flaws. Mainly, Batman's ridiculous growl and TwoFace. The guy who played Dent did a phenomenal job, but why was he in this? Did they just think that Joker couldn't carry the movie alone? With Dent gone, we've lost a terrific villain who could have taken Heath Ledger's place for a little while.

Extra points for anyone who can tell me where Jordan Hill comes from.

I guess I should explain why this ISN'T a Joker fic. In light of the Movie Of The Year, the Clown Prince seems to be a hot topic on this site right now. Thing is, I'm using this to practice a traditional adventure story. I'm hoping to improve to the point where I can send my work to DC along with a job application. So be honest in your reviews! Tell me what's good, and what to work on.


	5. Chapter 5

The monsters iron-strong arms squeezed tight around Batman's chest- an ordinary man would have been crushed to jelly in a matter of seconds. But the Batsuit contained enough armor to forestall this fate for a while- long enough for Batman to wriggle one arm down to his utility belt. He felt around the various pouches on the belt, unable to see where his hands were going.

Meanwhile, Batgirl continued to dodge the blows of the two monsters that surrounded her. She no longer launched any attacks of her own- she had put everything she had into that one blow against the creature's knee, and hadn't so much as slowed the beast down. Clearly, she was unable to harm her adversaries, so she focused instead on avoiding their attacks. This was easy enough for such a highly trained martial artist- the monsters were strong and tough but their vegetal nature meant that speed was not one of their strengths. Batgirl focused on acrobatics, keeping the monsters attention on herself and playing for time. Every second meant more time for Batman or herself to think of a solution. As a huge claw passed mere inches from her head, burying itself an inch deep in the concrete floor, she hoped her partner thought quickly.

Poison Ivy, as was her habit, stayed on the sidelines and cheered her babies on. "Go, my lovelies! Kill them both! Then, we'll make nice mulch out of them and spread them on your little sisters. I've heard that bats produce some of the best fertilizer!"

Eventually, as he heard his armor begin to crack and buckle, Batman reached what he was searching for- a hypodermic needle filled with an odd red fluid. After a few seconds of fumbling, he managed to get a proper grip on it- and with all his strength, he plunged the needle through the beast's bark-like skin before triggering the release of the contents into the creature's circulatory system.

The effect was instantaneous. The plant monster dropped its prey and began to scramble around in agony, writhing and shaking uncontrollably. From somewhere in its throat, a hideous pained gurgle emerged- Batman knew that if the monster had been given a voice it would be screaming. He tried to ignore the sound, for it played havoc with his conscience to know that he had inflicted such a painful death on a living creature- even one as mindless as Ivy's mutant slaves. From experience, the Dark Knight knew that Ivy never gave her creations sentience- she preferred her servants to have no will of their own. Instead, he focused on getting his breath back, as the monster slowly sank to the ground. Without waiting to see the green Goliath's death, the Dark Knight raced to his sidekick's aid, plunging a second needle into one monster's arm. He hurled a third syringe like a throwing knife at the final mutant, striking it in the chest. Batgirl leapt forward and triggered the syringe with a palm strike. A few seconds after that, all three mutants had fallen, and were slowly beginning to shrivel up like dead leaves. Poison Ivy raced to her creations, searching vainly for a way to save them.

"My babies!" she wailed, her voice choked with horror and loss. "What have you done?! What did you inject them with?!"

"I suspected you would have some form of plant-based defenses, Ivy" Batman growled as he and Batgirl subdued the self-proclaimed Queen of Green "So I came prepared. Those syringes contained an experimental herbicide I created for just this occasion."

As the Batcuffs closed around her wrists, Poison Ivy gave voice to another bout of not-quite laughter. "It doesn't matter! I've tainted enough drugs to kill thousands, Batman! I only regret I didn't have more time- I could have wiped this city clean! From narcotics, to prescription drugs, to the water supply! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Batman's expression never wavered as he checked the cuffs. "You didn't poison anything, Ivy"

"What are you talking about?" the redhead snapped. To Batgirl's surprise she actually sounded angry and indignant "I confess. It was all me! Why would I lie?"

"Because you believe that if you confess, the real criminal will have more time to kill. Every dead human counts, right Ivy?" Batman gestured to the laboratory set up at the end of the greenhouse. "Your lab isn't set up to produce a poison- its set up for analysis. You didn't taint the drugs, but I'd guess that you've been trying to figure out who HAS and how. Did you find anything? Bear in mind that I'll search your notes and find out the truth anyway, but if you tell me it will count in your favor during sentencing."

Ivy glared, but then her face became downcast and eventually she began to speak. "The toxin…is like nothing I've ever seen before. I don't think one of us- one of the Arkham crowd- is responsible. The poison is completely different from any of the signature toxins we employ, and while I wouldn't put it past the clown or the other killers to come up with something new, I doubt they'd use it for this. The toxin is a fast-acting nerve agent, and can be injected, ingested or inhaled all with the same result: pain, paralysis and death all within a matter of minutes. That's all I know."

As Poison Ivy was lead to the ambulance that would take her to Arkham Asylum, Batman and Batgirl entered the Batmobile. As the car silently raced off into the night, Batgirl asked the question that was foremost in her mind.

"What now?"

Batman grunted, but didn't answer for a moment. When he did, he sounded incredibly weary "I don't know. We have no leads, no evidence, and all our main suspects have been eliminated. Perhaps it's time I stopped racing around and started thinking." He turned to the girl beside him "Batgirl, you and Robin will patrol the docks. Try to find the boats bringing in the drugs- maybe we can find something there. I'll contact Nightwing and Azrael and have them monitor the skies in the Batwing. Meanwhile, I'll go to the Batcave and examine what little clues we've amassed so far."

* * *

On the other side of the city, in the run-down slum known as Crime Alley, a man known to his friends as Murphy exited an alley. He'd had another name once, but he tried not to think about it too much. In fact, Murphy found that it was getting harder and harder to remember his past at all. In his mind this was all to the good.

Murphy had never bought from the man in the alley before- normally he bought from Mario, who was with one of the Syndicates. True, Mario was pricier than some of the other dealers Murphy knew, but his stuff was generally better quality. But Mario was gone, arrested that very morning according to rumor. It had taken him forever to find a new dealer; the cops were cracking down hard on drugs lately. Murphy had, of course, seen the various 'public service' messages that the GCPD was putting out. They warned about a new danger to drug-users, and pleaded with people not to buy narcotics, saying that someone had poisoned a lot of the stuff coming into the city.

Murphy had dismissed the rumors at first- after all, the cops were always trying to ruin his good time, and this smelled like scare tactics to him. But then two of his friends died, right in front of him. Mitch had been a heroin addict, and had died in Murphy's apartment. Jennie had been a meth-addict like himself, and had died screaming in the local drug den three days ago. That had been enough to scare Murphy off the stuff for a few days, but eventually his need for the drug overcame his fear of death.

'After all' he told himself 'It's not like the stuff is ALL poisoned. Jennie and Mitch just had bad luck that's all.' Deep down, he recognized his thoughts as coming from his addiction, but knew he was powerless to stop himself. Eventually, he'd found someone who could hook him up with what he needed. He hurried home, the need for the meth lending him speed. The moment he reached his dingy, one room apartment, he locked the door. With trembling fingers, he placed the small rock he'd bought in his pipe (made from some tubing and a broken lightbulb), before reaching for his lighter.

Just as he was about to strike the flame, he paused. Even allowing that the poisoning of his friends was just bad luck, that hardly meant he was safe. Murphy's life had been characterized with what he saw as extremely poor luck- bad parents, bad grades, bad jobs, and a bad habit he knew was killing him slowly. If luck were the deciding factor in the killings, then he was already a dead man. He knew he should stop- just put down the lighter and call that clinic- the rehab place. The lady there said she could help him…

In the end though, it was too late for him. Whether due to his hard life, or a simple weakness of will, Murphy lacked the willpower to give up his addiction. He spun the wheel of his lighter and pulled in a lungful of meth-rich smoke. A feeling of warmth and bliss suffused him as the drug entered his system. His body stopped aching, and he felt like a human being again. But even now, at the apex of his high, he knew that he'd gotten lucky. And that good luck never lasted forever.

A/N

For an interesting examination of the Joker's mindset, check out the Adherents web s ite. just G oogle Joker and Religion.


	6. Chapter 6

Batman sat at a chair before his massive supercomputer and marshalled his thoughts. He had before him a list of all the known facts of this case, such as they were. The Batcomputer was among the most powerful machines on the planet, surpassed only by the Justice League's main computer, but even it could not make sense of things.

One: Someone was poisoning the narcotics in Gotham City. Two: they used a so far unique neurotoxin which killed the victim in a spasm of agony, lasting between fifteen and twenty five seconds. Three: The bodies displayed no signs which might link them to a known Rogue (i.e no smiles, no terror, etc). Four, the poison was estimated to have reached approximately thirty percent of the drugs in Gotham, a percentage which seemed to be rising. Five: All major criminal bodies seemed to be equally affected.

Reaching for the keyboard, he called up a report that Oracle had made on Robin and Azrael's findings on the pier. They had discovered a small boat unloading a cargo of premium grade cocaine from South America. After a brief battle with the crew, they had called in the GCPD to inspect the cargo. Surprisingly, approximately thirty percent of the cocaine had already been tainted with the neurotoxin. The police believed that the drugs had been tainted not at their port of origin, but at some time in the last forty eight hours, while the ship was in international waters. This dramatically altered the case. Interpol, the Coast Guard and the FBI had all come to Gotham and the pressure for a solution was mounting.

Batman called up a different file, one containing a list of still-viable theories and routes of inquiry. The list was narrowing, as new facts rendered some theories obsolete, but he still felt no closer to a solution than he had been a week ago. He decided to look over the current list and see what ideas that sparked. There wasn't much to see, only four items.

'One- Killings are the work of a non-criminal who seeks to eliminate drug users from the city.' That could still very well be the case- last year in Central City an Episcopalian preacher had killed sixteen drug dealers before the Flash had caught him. However, Flash had stumbled across the arrest while the killer had been trying to dispose of a body- it had been pure luck. Batman knew that, in a city the size of Gotham, a killer working with care and discretion could evade capture indefinitely. Since this theory provided him with no possible actions other than watching and waiting, he mentally dismissed it.

'Two- Ra's Al Ghul is using Gotham to test some new scheme. Given the Demon's Head and his genocidal plans, this was a perfectly viable hypothesis. The League Of Assasins had as it's goal nothing less than the cleansing of the world; he doubted they would balk at killing a few dozen individuals. But, at the same time, it didn't seem to fit. Why target so small a percentage of the population, when it would be just as simple to strike the city as a whole? It made no sense, and unlike most of his enemies, Ra's could be depended upon to be coldly logical. Reluctantly, he erased this from the list.

'Three- One of the Rogues' That hadn't panned out so far; neither Poison Ivy nor the Joker had proven to be involved. Of all the Rogues, they were the ones most likely to be behind such as scheme- the random killings would appeal to the clown, the chance to avenge the forests to Ivy. But the Joker had denied involvement, and normally the clown boasted of his crimes. Ivy had likewise proven innocent. That left Scarecrow and the Mad Hatter, and neither of them gravitated towards this sort of mass killing. The Hatter generally focused on either controlling people or reenacting Alice In Wonderland, while the Scarecrow preferred to frighten not kill. All of which meant that, unless there was someone new in town, this too was unlikely.

'Four-Killings are unrelated to Gotham, but rather originate in South America. Perhaps one cartel is tainting the products of another'. That might account for such drugs as cocaine, heroin, and other imported drugs, but it left no explanation for the deaths related to locally made narcotics. Batman discounted this theory as well.

Batman frowned as he gazed at the screen. So far, all his best theories seemed unlikely or unsolvable. He was right back where he started from, with no theories or leads. He knew the answer was there, he could FEEL it, but it continued to elude him. Unbidden, a memory popped into his mind, one from his first training trip.

It had been during the latter part of his training, when he had finished honing his body and had begun to focus on his mind. He'd started in London, learning the fine art of investigation from a variety of teachers- mainly former members of Scotland Yard and MI-6. One of his teachers had been a former intelligence analyst by the name of Sir Thomas Strande and it was him that Bruce thought of now. Sir Thomas had been a short, stout man, then in his late fifties, who had left MI-6 when he felt they were getting to soft on the Russians. The old man had been a fanatic Cold Warrior, and had spent several decades defending the West in a shadow war that most people had never heard about. For thirty years he and his opposite in the Kremlin had dueled in the streets of dozens of cities- agents had killed, kidnapped, blackmailed and spied on one another- until the slow end of the Cold War sent them both into retirement.

At the time that Bruce met him, Sir Thomas spent most of his days in his garden. Contrary to the popular stereotype, the old spymaster had no interest in flowers- indeed, he referred to roses as being good compost- but rather spent his days tending his prize-winning vegetables. Yet the old mind remained as knowledgeable and deceptive as ever, and it was for this reason Bruce that had chosen to learn the art of counter-intelligence from Sir Thomas.

One evening, early on in their studies, Bruce had asked the old man how one could deduce the enemies plan in order to counteract it. Sir Thomas had taken a large pull from his pipe, and leaned back in his leather chair before responding. "There are many ways to sniff out your enemies intentions, Bruce m'boy. You can tail his agents, or try to intercept his communiqués. But the easiest way to guess a plan is to observe the situation and simply assume that the plan is working. Then, you work backwards from there"

Batman shook his head and brought himself back to the present. 'The simplest way to guess a plan is to assume that it's already working'. With a scowl, the Dark Knight realized that he hadn't really LOOKED at what was happening in Gotham- he'd been too focused on the killings to see the overall effect. Batman rose from his chair and headed for the Batmobile. It was time to see what was happening in his city. As he moved, he triggered his OraCom and told Oracle to have Robin meet him in Crime Alley as soon as possible. He needed someone who would follow orders without question (thus eliminating Nightwing and Azrael) but who had enough experience to act on their own initiative (which eliminated Batgirl). That left Tim.

* * *

A half an hour later, Batman and Robin stood on a rooftop in the middle of Gotham's infamous Crime Alley. Batman was briefing his partner about their goal- to observe the city and determine what effect, if any, the killings had had on the populace at large. Robin stood, shivering in the bitter cold of the winter night, as his mentor instructed him to keep his eyes open, and to note everything and anything that seemed out of the ordinary. When the instructions were completed, the Boy Wonder voiced a question that had been bothering him the whole time.

"Why here?" he asked "I mean, I know this is a hotspot for criminals, but it isn't the drug center of Gotham anymore"

Batman almost felt like smiling at that- he knew what his partner really wanted to ask, and respected Tim's discipline and judgement in NOT asking. Every member of the BatClan knew that Batman- Bruce- was tremendously uncomfortable in Crime Alley, the site of his parents murder. He patrolled there with the same assiduousness that he did everywhere, but it was hardly a place he liked to be. Why, then, did he want to start the search there, when there were at least as many dealers in, say, Chinatown? Dick would have asked- not directly but he would have asked. Discretion and subtlety had never been Dick's strong points.

"Regardless of where the drugs are" he said in a neutral tone "This is where most of the deaths have occurred. More than fifty five percent of the victims identified so far came from Crime Alley, so here is where we begin our search. Now, let's go." With that, the Dark Knight fired off his grapple and swung away. A moment later, his partner followed him, as they began to search for some clue as to the enemy's plan.


	7. Chapter 7

Outside Gotham Central Hospital, a crowd stood. They seemed unbothered by the truly ferocious cold, and the biting wind troubled them not at all. They were listening to a man talk on the steps of the building. He was a plain man, with sandy hair parted to the side, and a set of horn-rimmed glasses. They'd been listening to him for some time now, and showed no sign of losing interest.

"…truly like unto the Whore of Babylon!" yelled the man at the front "But now, NOW my brothers and sisters, NOW we see the unrighteous reaping the FRUIT of their sin! The LORD has seen fit to send a new plague, like that which He sent into Egypt, to cleanse our fair city of the sinners who defile it! By His Will the corrupt are destroyed while the innocent are spared!" At just that moment, a police van pulled up, and wheeled out a gurney that carried a body draped in a white cloth. The man at the front gestured wildly to the dead person "SEE, my children! Another befouled soul, struck down by its own WICKEDNESS and SIN! See the deadly WAGES of self-pollution!"

The crowd went wild, shouting out things like "Preach it Pastor James!" and "Death to the Sinners!".

High atop the hospital building, Batgirl watched the proceedings through a set of high-powered binoculars, while Azrael gazed out at the city. Both were listening to the so-called 'holy man' through a listening device they'd planted on the hospital stairs. Occasionally, Azrael would snort in disgust and spit onto the rooftop, as though trying to cleanse his mouth of some foul taste. Abruptly, Batgirl looked up to see Nightwing gliding down towards them.

"Okay, who wants to tell me why there's an angry mob outside the hospital?" Nightwing said, in a tone that was only half-serious. Batgirl quickly summarized the tone of the rally so far, and a look of revulsion passed over the young hero's face. "God, people dying left and right and this sicko thinks it's a miracle from God."

He glanced at the still silent 'angel of vengeance' and coughed. "Um…Az? Please don't take this the wrong way, but I kinda expected you to be right down there with them. I mean, you ARE kinda big on the whole fire and brimstone, 'Repent, Ye Sinners' thing."

Azrael snorted again and turned to face Nightwing. "Do not presume to know my mind, mortal. While it is true that those who imbibe narcotics pollute the human form, this is less of a sin than it is a weakness of will. They are to be pitied, aided, and only if necessary to be chastised." The armor-clad vigilante pointed one of his wrist-blades down towards the crowd "That rabble, however, presume to know God's will, to judge who should live and who should die, and assume themselves to be among the righteous. That, Nightwing, is a clear manifestation of Pride- a DEADLY sin. You have only to say the word, mortal, and I shall take great pleasure in dispersing this disgusting and blasphemous assembly."

Nightwing actually stopped to consider it. Seeing the self-righteous Pastor James lectured on sin by the fiery vigilante did have a certain appeal… But in the end it was all rendered moot, as Harvey Bullock emerged from his police car and shoved his way to the front of the crowd. He reached the pastor and grabbed the smaller man by the front of his sweater, actually lifting the preacher off the ground.

"All right folks" the surly cop said to the crowd "Sunday School is officially over. Go home an' read ya Bible or something. G'wan, MOVE!"

The small preacher shoved his face into Bullock's and spat "We have the right to peaceful assembly, and the right to celebrate the triumph of the Lord over the WICKED! This is not only given to us by our Founding Fathers but by Almighty GOD! Stand aside, thou agent of SATAN!"

Bullock's eyes bulged in his head, but he kept himself (reasonably) calm. Instead of throttling the little man, he pulled out a toothpick and put it in his mouth. Eventually, he said "You got a permit, Padre? A protest permit, or an assembly permit? No? Then you AIN'T got the right ta hold ya little get-together on public property. So get yer butt back to church and do ya celebratin' there. Or, hey, if you want I can arrange a nice cozy place for you an' all ya little friends to hold ya meetin'. Real cozy- like six by five! O'course, checking OUT might be hard. Now MOVE IT!" He tossed the preacher to the ground, where the small man landed in a heap. The crowd, seeing other police arriving began to disperse, and deprived of his supporters the good reverend lost much of his holy fire.

Up on the roof, all were silent. Finally, Nightwing said "I always knew there was something about Bullock I really liked"

* * *

The Dynamic Duo scoured the streets of Crime Alley, searching vainly for some sign of what was going on in Gotham. The streets were empty, partly due to the bitter cold but also due to the tension that gripped the streets. Batman knew his city better than anyone- he knew its streets and alleys, its habits and its fears, he knew what it felt and why- but he hadn't been aware of this tension until he started looking for it. The city felt as if it were on the verge of…something, but he couldn't tell what.

Frustrated, the Dark Knight swung away from his current course, followed by his sidekick. He glanced down towards the ground just in time to see two men dart into an alley. One was tall and well-dressed, with expensive shoes and a long coat. The other was shabby, dirty and had a hungry look in his eyes. It didn't take a lifetime's experience as a detective to guess that he was seeing the beginnings of a drug purchase. Signaling Robin to stay on the roof as lookout, the Batman swung down to ground level.

Paul Krystoveraktes was not a bad young man- he'd always worked hard at his trucking firm, cared for his family and not made trouble. He went to church every Sunday, and always tried to give something to charity. Really, most of his problems could be traced to one bad decision he'd made in college. It had been the start of his finals, and the pressure was on to excel. His large family kept telling him how vital it was that he succeed in these tests, so he could get a good job, meet a nice Greek girl, and so forth. But no matter how hard he worked, he could never seem to get all his work done. Then one of his friends had offered him some coke- praising it as the ultimate energy booster. That's when Paul made his Bad Decision- he decided he could handle the drug. He passed his finals, but wound up with a major habit.

Luckily, he managed to land a job as the night manager of a radio station. It was a good position for him- enough pay to support his habit, and no one really cared if he didn't always look his best when he came to work. All in all life was, if not good, then at least bearable.

Then the drug supply of Gotham started killing people. Demand had stayed fairly steady, but suppliers vanished in the wake of police crack-downs or left for other cities. Paul hadn't been able to score in almost a week, and he was hurting. But Paul hadn't completely lost himself to addiction- he'd sat down with a weeks worth of newspapers and tried to figure where he might buy drugs in relative safety. Paul had always been a fair hand with research, and he soon discovered that Crime Alley received the least attention from the police. Vigilantes, of course were the wild card, but honestly what were the odds he'd run into Batman?

As it turned out, 1 chance in 1.

He thought his heart would stop beating when the dealer- a well dressed Italian- suddenly ran away. He thought it would explode when the massive, bat-shaped shadow swooped down from the night sky and landed in front of him.

"What are you doing?!" Batman growled, and his voice sounded to Paul like the very wrath of God Almighty "Do you have any idea how stupid this is?"

Perhaps it was the thwarted need of his addiction. Perhaps it was the chill of the night. Perhaps it was a lifetime of compromises, disappointments, of broken dreams and dashed expectations. Or perhaps, Paul Krystoveraktes was tired, and hungry and in no mood for a sermon from a masked maniac. Taking a deep breath, the young addict began to yell at the Dark Knight.

Robin watched from a ledge across the street as the junkie started to yell at his partner. He bet he could just guess what the guy was saying. That it was his choice to take drugs or not, that the laws against it made no sense, that he wasn't really hurting anyone but himself… Robin snorted.

'Right. You give the money to the nice dealer, he uses it to buy guns to protect his business, resulting in more murders. Or he buys more drugs to hook more people, so he can buy even more guns later on. And either way the money filters back to South American drug lords who use it to buy more weapons to murder their rivals and oppress the honest citizens of their countries. But , that's not your worry, after all you're not hurting anyone.'

The Boy Wonder expected Batman to ignore this tirade and pursue the dealer, or to silence the punk with one blow. But instead, the Dark Knight's jaw dropped open for a second- which caused Robin to miss whatever happened next due to his own shock. When he finally recovered his wits, Batman was swinging up towards him.

No sooner had the Dark Knight landed on the ledge than he fired off another line. "Come on, Robin. I finally know what's going on."

A/N

2 chapters away from the end, folks.

This is not my view on narcotics- I'm a Libertarian, and believe in the maximum amount of liberty that is consistent with the liberty of others. In other words do as you please but don't bother other people with it. But it's how Robin would probably see things.

I like Harvey Bullock. In all of DCAU he's one of the very few who absolutely refuse to be impressed by Batman. Plus, he's got that old-school cop thing going, which makes him entertaining without being a buffoon.


	8. Chapter 8

The Batmobile raced through the dark, snow-covered streets of Gotham- such was its speed that, to either side, the amazing machine threw up a huge mountain of filthy snow. As he drove, Batman silently berated himself for his blindness. How many people, guilty of no more than an unfortunate addiction, had died because of his failure to make this simple connection? Beside him, Robin squirmed under the weight of his curiosity. Up until a few moments ago, Batman had been baffled by this case- you could see it in his every movement. Anyone who saw him would note the tension in his body, the uneveness of his movements, the concern and anger in his body language.But now, the Dark Knight seemed to be completely in control of himself, as though he had the entire affair solved. His partner had not explained what he had learned from his encounter with the blonde junky a few moments ago- what could the young addict have said that so energized the Dark Knight? Finally, he could take it no longer.

"Batman" he said, forcing his voice to be firm. He was honestly puzzled by t "What happened? Where are we going? What did that guy say to you?"

Batman grimaced. He realized that he had not explained things to Robin yet, and that could have proven very dangerous. Tim Drake was a better partner, in many ways, than any of his predecessors- he took orders easily, he was cool-headed and patient, and he had all the makings of a fine detective. But he wasn't a machine, and had to be told things in order to function properly.

"We're headed back to the Batcave to resupply ourselves for heavy combat. As for what happened…"

_Batman let the boy yell at him for a while, partly because the dealer was already too far ahead to catch on foot and partly because the boy NEEDED to yell. Batman was familiar with the young man's state of mind- frustrated, scared, and angry- and knew it to be dangerous in a healthy person. In an addict suffering withdrawl, such feelings could easily turn violent, even murderous. Better to let him vent steam at him than at some unsuspecting innocent. More than that, though, this was WHY he had come out here tonight- to see what the mood on the street was. His intuition- the intuition every detective develops after a number of years- was telling him to listen. So he listened to the outpouring of frustration, need and vitriol until he caught something._

_"…not like any of YOU care! HA! We're human beings, dammit, we're CITIZENS but no one really cares about whether we live or die! So what if a few junkies are dead, so what if all the rest are living in fear, just means the streets are that much cleaner right? RIGHT?!" Paul Krystoveraktes paused in his tirade, to marvel at a sight seen by very few. The Batman stood with his eyes wide and his mouth open, plainly in shock. " Hey, are you okay?"_

_The vigilante placed a hand on Paul's shoulder "Fine. Thank you." He said, and his voice was completely sincere "You've just given me the clue I need to end this nightmare." With that, the Dark Knight fired off his grapple and swung away into the night._

Robin scratched his head. "Call me thick, but I don't get it. What did he say that was such a revelation?"

Batman slammed his fist into the rim of the steering wheel "Can't you see? He said 'all the rest are living in fear'. We've been going about this all wrong! This has never been about causing death- the killings are just a means to an end. The real goal here has been to make the survivors afraid! And that, Robin, leads us to…"

"Scarecrow!" Robin shouted "But, you said it didn't seem like his sort of crime"

Batman shook his head "I was short-sighted. I couldn't see the effect because I was too focused on the means. I dismissed Crane because this crime didn't, on the surface, fit his modus operandi. I should have given it more thought, seen beneath the surface."

Robin sighed "Crane…We don't even know where he is, do we? I mean, he got out of Arkham legitimately this time."

Batman shook his head "That's because of the new rules the state put into place. Due to Arkham's soaring budget, the governor wanted to find a way to minimalize expensive hospitalization and treatment time. So a committee of experts drew up a series of 'sanity qualifications' and decreed that once a patient met all the criteria, he or she was to be released immediately. If I had to guess, I would say that Crane found out about this somehow, and feigned exactly those qualities he needed in order to be released. The asylum doctors knew he was still dangerous, but the rules were clear- Crane met the criteria and had to be released. They let him go, but sent word to myself and Gordon that Scarecrow was out. I've been having Oracle track his movements ever since."

Robin sighed. He wished that the government (state and federal) would stop interfering at Arkham. Most of their new rules and reforms only made it easier for the Rogues to escape and made life more difficult for the staff. "How long do you figure the new rules will last?"

Batman gave a brief half-smile. "After it comes out that the man they released a few months ago started killing dozens of people? You tell me."

Once back at the Batcave, the two heroes restocked their utility belts, while Oracle briefed them on what the Scarecrow had been doing for the last few months. There was little to tell- Crane appeared to be keeping his nose clean. He hadn't hired any muscle, nor purchased any of the chemicals to create his trademark fear toxin. All he had done was go to bars and walk around the docks and railyards- all perfectly legal. Oracle had checked and found that Crane had taken ownership of a warehouse a few weeks ago, as part of his new business- Bird Imports. Robin had smirked at that- Jonathan CRANE alias the ScareCROW had set up BIRD Imports.

Midnight found Batman and Robin waiting on the roof of the large dockside warehouse of Bird Imports. Presumably, this was the heart of his operation- yet there was no sign of any hired thugs patrolling the building. Nor were there any obvious traps or alarms. That made Batman concerned- the deadliest perils were usually the least obvious. He turned to his partner, and made ready to enter.

"You both have your rebreathers?" The Boy Wonder nodded and held up the small device. No larger than a hospital oxygen mask, the rebreathers were a new technology created by Wayne Industries. Powerful, miniaturized scrubbers located on either side of the device would suck in air and purify it of any harmful chemicals or diseases- thereby allowing the wearer to safely enter quarantine zones or chemical spill sites without danger.

Batman nodded in approval and said "Good, I want you to put them on now. Crane doesn't seem to be using conventional security- that means less combat, but also that he won't hesitate to douse the area in his fear gas the moment he becomes aware of our presence. Oracle wasn't able to find a recent map of the warehouse, so we don't know where Crane will be hiding, so speed and stealth are our priorities. Once we're in, maintain complete noise discipline, keep moving and stay close to me. Ready? Let's go"

Silently, Batman picked the lock on one of the windows and leapt down to the ground. Robin followed immediately thereafter, and both crimefighters landed silently. They began to move through the cavernous building, their eyes moving constantly as they searched. The warehouse was filled with large shipping crates, some wooden and some metal, which seemed to predate the current company. Dust lay thickly on the boxes, and here and there the crates had deteriorated due to time and lack of care. Eventually, the dynamic duo reached the far side of the building, and from there they saw a light in the foreman's office. Silently, they made their way up the stairs- Batman in the lead, with Robin following a few feet behind.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they peered into the large window that overlooked the warehouse floor. Inside, they could see that most of the large room was covered in laboratory equipment. Strange chemicals bubbled over bunsen burners, and a small still produced refined poisons. One whole wall was covered by a large blackboard, on which were written names and dates though what it meant was not immediately clear. In one corner, the Scarecrow- in full costume- poured a clear liquid into a large plastic drum.

Batman signaled Robin to put on his rebreather and cover him and then kicked in the door. Whirling quickly, the self-proclaimed master of fear produced a gas grenade from somewhere inside his costume. The grenade burst, but the two heroes took no notice as they rushed the spindly sociopath. Batman grabbed his enemy, and quickly had him in the Batcuffs. "It's over, Crane. Your murder spree ends now"

The Scarecrow snorted and said "What took you so long?"

A/N

This may strike you as anticlimactic. No big fight scene and so forth. But this story was meant to be a mystery- the challenge was finding who was doing it, not putting a stop to it. A big battle really didn't fit the mood of what I was trying to do.  
Next chapter- All is revealed.


	9. Chapter 9

_The following is a transcript from the confession of one Jonathan Crane, made of his own free will, in the presence of Gotham City Police Department investigators. Interrogating officers are Harvey Bullock and Renee Montoya._

_(tape begins with the sound of coughing, then)_

_Montoya: All right, we're recording. Ahem. This is Renee Montoya, interrogating officer 1._

_Bullock: Harvey Bullock, Interrogating Officer 2, and senior officer._

_Montoya: Crane, you wanted to confess?_

_Crane: Wanted is something of an exaggeration. I am willing to confess, yes._

_Montoya: You are responsible for the deaths of twenty five persons during the month of February?_

_(a pause)_

_Crane: I am._

_Bullock: Whoa, whoa WHOA! What the hell was that smile about, Straw Man?!_

_(sounds of someone getting up, presumably detective Bullock)_

_Bullock: If this is some kinda joke…_

_Montoya: Harvey, leave it for now. Moving along, why did you do it?_

_(A longer pause)_

_Crane: It was an experiment. My largest scale piece of research to date._

_Bullock (quietly): Some research._

_Crane: Indeed. I conceived of the experiment during my last stay in Arkham. One of the 'normal' patients went into severe withdrawl- just what drug he'd been taking I do not know- and began screaming for 'his stuff'. Not even the threat of punishment or electroshock therapy could silence him. I was intrigued by this- the power of his addiction seemed greater than the power of fear. I desired to see whether this was true of most people. To this end…_

_Bullock (interrupting): You poisoned the drugs coming into Gotham?_

_Crane (his voice testy): Among other things, yes. The experiment called for a gradual increase in the percentage of narcotics tainted- raising the odds against the addicts, and studying to see if demand fell off. My findings were quite astonishing- no matter how many died, demand remained relatively stable. Although the experiment was interrupted, it does seem as though addiction is more powerful than some fears._

_Montoya: Wait, wait. What other things did you do?_

_Crane: I also took addicts off the streets, sometimes in groups and sometimes individually, and withheld their drugs of choice. Then I made them an offer: Accept a full day and night of exposure to my fear toxin, and I would give them a dose of what they needed. It was astonishing- nearly to a man, they all accepted. Even when they saw their compatriots die screaming, eventually they almost all agreed to the toxin._

_Montoya: Harvey, make a note about that- we'll come back to it later. How did you go about poisoning the drugs?_

_Crane: It was quite simple. There are only a small number of truly professional smuggling rings operating in and around Gotham City, and these few bring in over seventy percent of the city's narcotics. It was easy to (pause) convince one or two individuals in each organization to do things my way. As for locally made drugs, despite media reports of Meth Labs in basements, this field too is dominated by a handful of professionals._

_Bullock: Must've been expensive. All that convincing, plus the cost of chemicals, plus the cost of the warehouse… no wonder ya didn't have any goons on hand when the Bat came a'callin._

_Crane: To the contrary. I maintained a fair sized force of (pause, then distastefully) 'goons', at first. But after such a long time with no sign of the Batman, I decided I did not need them._

_Montoya: Wait. What do you mean 'such a long time'? You've only been at this for a little over a month._

_(Crane laughs, then)_

_Crane: Such egotism doesn't suit you detective._

_Bullock: Yeah? You wanna enlighten us, freak?_

_Crane: You assume that because you discovered my crimes a month ago, that must be when they began. I have been, as you say, 'at this' ever since my release from Arkham- over three months ago. And by my estimation, I have killed many more than the twenty five you know of. Many, many more._

_(Crane laughs)_

With a click, James Gordon snapped off the recording and looked out at the darkened city. The snow was finally letting up, and the stars were visible between the clouds.

"three months…" he said to himself. Of course, he should have known he wasn't alone.

"Yes" said Batman, emerging from the shadows "I checked around. Crane has been ordering the ingredients for his neurotoxin for three months."

Gordon started, then turned around "You know, one of these days that little trick of yours is going to give me a heart attack. You'll say hello, and I'll keel over dead."

"To the contrary" Batman said, and a smile tugged at one corner of his lips "You're in fine shape. According to your last physical your blood pressure is fine, your cholesterol levels are low, and your cardiovascular system is in excellent shape despite your smoking."

"What? How did you-? You know what? Never mind" Gordon raised his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose "That maniac has been killing people for three months- not just poisonings but kidnapping them off the streets to use in his sick experiments- and we didn't even KNOW. We wrote off their deaths as overdoses or ordinary bad drugs. We wrote them off like they didn't matter."

Batman put a hand on Gordon's shoulder. "What else could you do? There was no way to detect the toxin unless you already knew what you were looking for. The only reason we found out at all was that one of your detectives had a hunch."

"Bullock" Gordon said with a wan smile "This case has been good for him. Shown the rookies that old cops still know a few things the Academy can't teach."

Batman nodded "Some more good might come out of this. I've heard the DA plans to make Crane a deal- better conditions at Arkham in exchange for information on the smuggling networks and drug makers he suborned. Ordinarily, the gangs and the Syndicates would unite to prevent such testimony, but not this time. Remember the Jade Tigers? "

The Commissioner nodded. Many years ago, when the Rogues were just starting to take hold in Gotham, a powerful Chinese Tong called the Jade Tigers had tried to strongarm the Riddler. They demanded half the take from his robberies in exchange for their 'protection'. The response was immediate. Every Rogue in Gotham had turned their sights on the Tigers- soldiers were murdered, shell-companies were robbed, even the children of prominent Tigers were kidnapped. It didn't seem like an organized thing- more that every Rogue had decided, individually, to punish the Tigers insolence. By the time the Rogues had finished, the Tigers were finished in Gotham and a message spread throuout the Underworld: Do what you want among yourselves, we don't care. But don't EVER challenge our supremacy again.

"You think Crane will make the deal?"

Batman nodded "In exchange for access to research papers and psychology journals? Yes, I think he will."

Gordon frowned, determined to see the dark side. "So what? In a month, new networks will spring up to take over"

"Trure" The Dark Knight said "But they'll be less entrenched, less experienced, and easier to find. This could be a huge blow against narcotics in Gotham."

"Well, what do you know?" Gordon said, as his friend vanished into the darkness "A happy ending after all"

* * *

In his small one room apartment, Murphey stared at the rock of Meth that he'd bought that morning. He should throw it out, he knew. He'd gotten lucky last time- and given his track record, he knew that wouldn't last. The poisoned stuff was quickly vanishing from the streets as the smuggling rings and big labs were broken up. He might very well have the last poisoned meth in Gotham- or a perfectly safe rock.

But wherever a market niche exists, someone will try to fill it. Already, word was spreading that fresh drugs should be on the streets in a few days. He ought to get rid of this possibly-deadly crap and just wait it out. He'd gone a few days without meth before, he could do so again! He was strong! He was tough! He was…

He was weak.

Tears of shame and self-loathing coursed down Murphey's cheeks as he fumbled the meth into his pipe. He took a deep breath of the drug-rich smoke, and hated himself even as strength and relief flooded his body. He was weak, he was pathetic, he didn't deserve to live… but he took another drag anyway.

End

A/N

To princessebee: If you're still interested in the project we discussed earlier, send me a message and we'll see how to get it started.

To everyone else: Thanks for reading.


End file.
